Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
They’re lovely people, but it’s … awkward. Especially since I can’t be in the same bed as Whit without touching him. It felt like I was in high school again, sneaking around and trying to find secret places to have sex.
“Do you have any questions for me?” Beck asks. He told me to call him that as soon as I met him and called him Mr. Beckett.
He’d screwed up his face and said, “Eww.”
I think we’ll get along fine. So long as he’s cool with me being in a relationship with another man. I don’t see why he wouldn’t be, but you never know with people. That’s something I’ve learned since being with Whit.
Most people are fine with it, don’t care, whatever. But there was one person in one of my classes that decided to avoid me after finding out I’m bi. Or maybe they don’t like me for other reasons and I’m reading into it.
When I started dating Whit, the bi label didn’t feel right to me. There was no doubt I was attracted to Whit, but other guys weren’t all that appealing to me.
And in the big scheme of things, being attracted to one guy means I fit under the bi umbrella, but I felt like an imposter. Maybe that’s some internalized biphobia stemming from ignorance about bisexual people, but something happened at V and V that finally made it all click for me.
Ex-NHL player, Brent Weyland, came into the bar, and both Whit and I fanboyed over him. When he left, I unwittingly found myself checking him out. Apparently, I do have a type, and that’s hockey players.
Weird considering I’d spent years in locker rooms and wasn’t aware of it. Can a lack of hockey make a hockey player crave it so much they start finding the players attractive? They should do studies. I’d volunteer.
Whit wasn’t so impressed with me drooling over another man. Especially when I said, “I looked at his ass,” with maybe too much enthusiasm. But when I explained why it was a good thing—that it helped me identify with a label that fit me because thinking of Whit as some one-off fluke also didn’t sit right with me—Whit forgave me.
Blowing him and promising he’s the only one for me went a long way in helping with that.
Beck looks at me expectantly, and I have no idea how long he’s been waiting for my answer.
Legally, I know I don’t have to tell him shit about my personal life, but I don’t want to have to keep it a secret, and I’d rather find out now if there’s going to be a problem working here, or if it will make things awkward like with my classmate.
“I only have one concern. Or, not really a concern, but … something I want to know, I guess.”
“What’s that?”
“I have a boyfriend,” I blurt like that’s an actual sentence that makes sense in this context.
I wonder if there will ever be a time where I don’t have to hold my breath when I say it. It’s something I never realized was constantly hanging over queer people’s heads. Coming out over and over to everyone you meet.
Beck leans back in his seat. Without saying anything to me, he picks up his phone and dials someone. “Hey, can you come to my office for a sec?”
Has he called an HR rep on me? Someone official to see his response? I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that. But then a good-looking guy with dark hair enters. I saw him on the ice earlier when Beck showed me around.
“Rainn, I’d like you to meet my partner, Christopher Jacobs.”
He reaches for my hand to shake. “You can call me Jacobs. Everyone does. Well, except him.” He points to Beck. “But feel free to ignore him. I always do.”
Beck laughs and sends Jacobs a look full of so much love it makes me miss Whit, and I saw him just this morning when I woke up to him coming home for his first coffee break.
“Oh. Partner as in … not your business partner, but partner-partner,” I stammer.
Beck turns his smile on me. “Well, technically, he’s both, but yes, partner-partner. Does that ease your concern?”
I nod. “It does, and I agree with you. I think this job is the perfect fit for me too.”
As I turn into Whit’s long driveway, the gravel crunching under my tires as I pull up to the white clapboard cottage, I get the sense—and not for the first time—that I’m coming home.
With the new job in Maybury, it would make sense for me to move out here with Whit, but the job is more an excuse to bring up moving in together. It wouldn’t be just because of the job. It’s because I want to be here.
Whit works insane hours on the farm, and I want to see him as much as possible.